


Better Fitting Skin

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Physical Abuse, Selkies, just a look at billy being a selkie ya know, selkie!billy hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: Billy’s mom had always, quietly and sadly, when it was just the two of them in the sandy second-hand shops, pointed to the furs and pelts that people shed the moment they hit the California sunshine."Billy, baby," she'd say softly, just between the two of them. "If you ever see anything like that--if your dad ever shows you anything like that, let me know, okay? Don't tell anyone else, okay?""Why?" Billy would ask, fingers aching to touch the items pinned to the wall and too expensive for his small, sticky fingers."It would make me happy," Mom sighs, running her fingers through his curls, like she wants to touch, too. "Can you do that for me? Promise me?""Okay," Billy answers.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Neil Hargrove
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Better Fitting Skin

“She hates you,” Niel says one night, face red and shining in the dim, yellow lamplight. Billy doesn’t make any noise; he balls his fat, little fists and scrunches up his face until it itches. “It’s your fault,” Neil continues after drinking from the bottle with a black seal balancing a barrel on its nose. It’s one of Billy’s favorite bottles because it’s fun to look at and reminds him of his mom. “She left because of you.” Niel spits and Billy’s face screws up tighter like a wet rag until he can feel tears ringing out into the corners of his eyes. 

“Shut up!” He screams. “You’re wrong! She’s coming back.” Billy yells with all the righteous fury that exists in his tiny, eleven-year-old body and feels hollow with it. Niel backhands him before Billy knows what’s happening and his hollowed-out bones collapse. He’s on the floor and his skull hurts, there’s a stinging-hard-MUCH and he starts crying because sometimes when he cries Neil stops (and he’s scared). 

“This is your fault,” Neil says again, wraps a hot, sweaty hand around Billy’s arm and pulls Billy up until Billy is almost dangling, feet scraping wildly at the floor as he tries to get some leverage to stop the hurt of his skin being squeezed and his bones creaking. “You hear me, you stupid little shit? This is your fault!” Billy reaches up, tries to pry Neil’s big, hot hand loose, but it’s a vice that keeps squeezing and, because Billy is a stupid little shit, he can’t help but focus on how much his skin is pinching and pulling like Neil is a big, angry crab. It’s sharp, sharp, sharp but worse than the Indian burns he gives the other kids on the playground. 

“Stop it!” Billy’s crying harder and much more real; his voice is wet and wobbly and whining. He hates it and hates how much the tears make his face itch. “Stop it, dad, you’re hurting me!” Neil laughs, an ugly bark like a bull seal. Billy’s scared and he’s hurt and he wants his dad to stop; Billy wants his mom to come back and stop it. Billy is afraid he’s going to die like this. He is afraid that Neil is never going to let go; he is afraid he’ll go into school on Monday without an arm because he’s going numb where he doesn’t hurt and Neil is going to pinch it off like a giant, red crab.

“Everything was fine until you came along and ruined everything!” Neil shouts with a violent shake that makes Billy scream when it feels like his arm will rip off. Billy makes the mistake of looking at Neil looking at him and pisses himself for the first time in years. There’s something about the look in his dad’s eyes, a hungry, furious darkness that feels like teeth and hurricanes and riptides. 

“Mom!” Billy sobs, shameless and terrified when Neil sneers at him and throws him away, like an empty bottle. Billy feels himself crack on the floor but he doesn’t shatter, even though his heart is in a hundred pieces and he can’t stop sobbing. “I’m sorry!” He gasps, natural as breathing. “Daddy, I’m sorry!” Billy curls up, hugs his head to his chest and shakes. He feels-hears the floor thump and shake with Neil’s heavy stomps. 

“Unbelievable,” Neil swears. “You’re a fucking animal, you know that? Huh?” Billy screams when something hits him in the side, hard enough to rock him almost open before he curls up tighter, arms moving from his head to the heavy-hard-hurt that makes it hard to breathe. Now that Billy’s started screaming, he can’t stop. He can’t stop. “Shut the fuck up! This is your fault!” 

“I’m sorry!” Billy manages between his stupid little shit screaming. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It doesn’t sound like words anymore; it doesn’t feel like words. Billy doesn’t feel like a person anymore. 

“Shut up!” Neil snarls. “Stop crying!” Billy doesn’t stop--he can’t. His lungs aren’t his; they’re moving on their own and making him sob. He tries to tell his dad that he’s trying when the ground thump-shakes and Neil is on the floor with him. “Stop crying,” Neil says, lower-darker. He sets a hot and sweaty hand on Billy’s shoulder. It’s almost nice until Neil’s hand slides from Billy’s shoulder to curl loosely around his neck. “Stop.”

And Billy does. One minute he’s sobbing uncontrollably and the next he’s barely breathing.

“Stop being such a pussy,” Neil says. Billy doesn’t move as he tries to keep taking rapid, shallow breaths. “I’m not gonna have it. You hear me? I said, do you hear me?” Neil squeezes and shakes him and Billy nods his head as fast as he can, grinding his cheek and hair into the floor. “I’m not gonna have it, Billy. You’re going to show me respect, you got that? I’m not the one who walked outta this house. I’m not the bitch that left you here, got that? Say: ‘yes, sir!’” Billy’s mute, like his throat is scared to make any noise with something on top of it. He nods until he can feel his hair catching in the cracks in the floor and pulling. “Say: ‘yes, sir!’ Billy! Show me some goddamn respect!”

“Yes!” Billy rasps, quiet and scared and wavering with snotty tears. “Yes, sir.” Niel looks at him, then shoves up and away. 

“Get outta my sight,” Neil mutters. “And clean yourself up, you goddamn animal. Fucking disgrace.” Billy waits until Neil’s back is turned before he scrambles to his feet and runs down the hall into his room. He feels dirty and his pants are wet-cold-chaffing, because he pissed himself, but Billy is too scared to go to the bathroom, so he squeezes under the bed and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He almost starts crying again when he hears the stomp-stomp-stomp of Neil’s feet down the hall. But, Neil keeps going and the door to his parent’s bedroom slams shut. And Billy waits.

Eventually, Billy crawls out from under the bed and frowns down at himself. There’s lint and dirt sticking to the drying part of his pants and he feels disgusting.

“Stupid,” he whispers to himself as he tugs his pants and underwear off and throws them into a corner in his room next to some socks and a small jar of seashells. “Stupid.” Billy rubs at his face and then crawls into bed, feeling small and cold and scared and filthy like an animal.

The thing is, Niel is right. This is Billy's fault. 

Billy’s mom had always, quietly and sadly, when it was just the two of them in the sandy second-hand shops, pointed to the furs and pelts that people shed the moment they hit the California sunshine. 

"Billy, baby," she'd say softly, just between the two of them. "If you ever see anything like that--if your dad ever shows you anything like that, let me know, okay? Don't tell anyone else, okay?"

"Why?" Billy would ask, fingers aching to touch the items pinned to the wall and too expensive for his small, sticky fingers.

"It would make me happy," Mom sighs, running her fingers through his curls, like she wants to touch, too. "Can you do that for me? Promise me?"

"Okay," Billy answers, would always answer, and beams as bright as he can with milk teeth missing and a scrape on his nose. His mom laughs, quietly and softly, and they walk on.

So, when Billy is poking around the house for loose change while his dad is out at work, he finds it. He doesn't remember where, now, only that he wrinkles his nose when he holds the dusty, cracking pelt up to the light. He can smell the sea and see the thin crystals of salt clinging to the folds in the fur. It doesn't look important or as nice as the furs and pelts in the store, but he promised his mom he'd show her. 

He runs, excited to make his mom happy with what he found, even if he doesn't understand. 

She's in the kitchen, staring out the window at the street. She's got both hands wrapped around a yellow mug with seashells on it. Her smile is tired when she looks up at the sound of Billy's pounding feet, but she freezes when she sees what he's holding. The mug drops and shatters, black coffee spills among jagged peaks of ceramic. Billy skids to a stop, knows he's not supposed to walk near broken glass.

"Mom?" He asks, chewing his lip and looking at the coffee, and shards, and then his mom. "Are you okay?"

"Billy," she breathes and makes a noise Billy doesn't understand but makes him sad. "Billy, baby, what is that?" 

"I thought," Billy clutches the fur tighter and takes a nervous step back when his mom lunges forward. They both freeze. "You said…if I found something."

"Billy, baby, give that to me." His mom looks scared, like Billy's running in the dark water at high tide. "Baby, please." Billy swallows and nods his head.

"Mom, the floor," Billy looks down, away from the look in his mom's face and at the tiny coffee ocean. "Dad's gonna be mad." His mom laughs sharply, a deep bark, startling Billy into looking at her. 

"Don't," she shakes her head. "Don't worry about him." She steps closer, over the broken mug, and she snatches the fur from Billy's hand. She steps back, brings the fur to her face and starts to shake. 

"Hey!" Billy thinks about trying to snatch it back. He balls his fists instead and pouts. "Mom, it's not nice to snatch!" He scolds. "Mom?" Billy slides closer to his mom, reaches up and grabs the hem of her shirt. "Mom?" She jumps, flinches away, eyes wild before they settle on Billy.

"Where's the other one?" She demands, arms wrapping around the pelt. "The white one, where is it?" Billy shakes his head.

"I don't," he chews on his lip and screws up his face looking for the answer. "There wasn't one." His mom makes that horrible noise again. "Mom, it's okay. It's okay. Mom, the glass!" She falls to her knees and grabs Billy by the shoulder, shaking him.

"Are you sure? Did you look? Where did you find it, Billy?" She’s loud at his face like she's shouting and Billy tries to pull away. 

"Just the one! There wasn't anything else."

"Bastard," she hisses and her head hangs between her arms and she shakes. "That motherfucker."

"Mom!" Billy squeaks, scandalized and thrilled at her language.

"Okay, Billy. Okay. Where did you find it?" 

Billy shows her, remembers her tearing through everything and swearing more and more creatively. He can't wait to tell the kids at school, to shout these new and terrible things at the older boys and then run. He's excited with the possibility of tomorrow. It's better than being in the room as his mom cries.

"Bastard, fucking--" she gasps and rubs at her face. "Okay. Okay." She stands up straight, gleaming for a moment. She turns to Billy and when she smiles it's all teeth. "Let's go to the beach."

They don't go to the usual place, which makes sense because mom didn't let him bring his surfboard. Instead, mom takes them off a side road and down another until the car is shaking on the unpaved path so violently that Billy is afraid it's going to shake right apart. 

"We have to walk," Billy's mom says once there's no more road. 

"Where are we? Where are we going?” Billy asks. He looks around before he reaches up to grab his mom’s hand. She startles before squeezing his hand back. 

“It’s a secret,” she says and pulls him along. “A very special secret, so you can’t tell anyone.”

He feels like they walk forever, though he knows it couldn’t have been that long. The sun is still up when they reach the hard, rocky beach like cracked asphalt. It’s a tiny beach, Billy can see from one wall of scrubby brush to a steep rise of dirt and rock, but there’s no one there. It’s private, but Billy whispers anyway.

“What’s so special about this place?”

His mom laughs and pulls her hand from his soft, sticky grasp. She kneels in the sand and takes Billy’s face in her hands, brushing his stringy curls out of his eyes when the wind blows salt off the water.

“I’m going to show you a secret,” she says. “Don’t move, okay? Just stay here, no matter what. Can you do that?” Billy nods, face crinkling in confusion before his mom pulls away.

“What are you doing?” Billy asks, incredulous and scandalized once again as his mom starts to strip off her shirt. “We can’t go swimming here! It’s dangerous. Aren’t you always saying it’s dangerous?”

“Be quiet,” she says. Billy frowns but listens and looks away, face redder than a sunburn when his mom takes off her pants and underwear. “Watch me, Billy, okay? Watch me and don’t look away.”

“You’re naked!” Billy says and covers his eyes. “That’s weird!” She laughs again, somehow lighter and too close. Billy squeaks when she grabs his hands and pulls them away from his face.

“Just watch me,” she says again. Billy tries to look just at her eyes, but when she turns, draping the dusty, cracking pelt over her shoulders, he sees how naked she is and has to force his eyes to stay open.

“You can’t go swimming!” He says again. His mom sits on the edge of the rocks, puts her feet in the water.

“Come here,” she calls and Billy scurries over, looking at his feet. “Come here,” she says and grabs Billy in a hug he struggles in because his mom is naked. “I’ll be right back,” she says when he wiggles free. "Stay." Before Billy can scream, his mom pushes off the rocks and slides into the water. He keeps screaming, scrambling at the edge of the rocks when a seal breaks the surface of the blue water to stare at him with giant, soft eyes. Billy screams, falling back against the rocks before rushing back to the edge and scanning the water.

“Mom!?” The blue water doesn't even bubble or ripple beside the seal bobbing like a rubber duck and staring at him. “Someone help!” Billy screams, hoping someone else is stupid enough to be out here in the middle-of-nowhere unsafe place. The seal ducks back into the water and then jumps up and out, landing on the rocky ground next to Billy. “Oh shit,” he whispers to himself, paralyzed as the large creature turns its too-big, too-dark eyes at him again. The seal huffs, spraying him with water. “Oh, gross!” Billy scrubs at his face and scuttles backward, away from the animal staring him down. “Mom!” He screams again. The seal blinks at him, then lays down and rolls over. It makes a noise like a laugh. Billy lowers his hands, grabbing at the rock for anything he can defend himself with as he squints at the creature.

It’s not a big seal, not really, but it seems remarkable. Maybe because it’s this close to him while his mom might be drowning. Billy looks and looks, something about its fur niggling at the back of his mind. 

The seal laughs again.

“Where’s my mom?” Billy asks and feels immediately stupid. The seal rolls back onto its belly and tosses its head. It barks sharply, waddle-scoots to the edge of the water and looks back at Billy. It barks again. “Hey!” Then the animal slides into the water with a splash. Billy rushes to the edge of the rocks, looking around in the blue water for any sign of life or movement, when his mom’s face suddenly appears under his, dripping and laughing.

“Billy,” she says, like it means something. She stares at him with her big, soft eyes and Billy starts to cry. 

“Mom, don’t do that!” He says, shaking. “Mom, there was this seal and--Mom you could have--” She doesn’t stop laughing, soft and then she spins in the water, so she’s looking at Billy upside down. “Mom!” Billy starts and then stops. He squints at his mom. “Oh,” he breathes and his mother pulls herself out of the water, seal skin draped over her shoulders. 

“Do you want to go swimming?” She asks him. Billy blinks and blinks and shakes his head.

“I’m not supposed to go swimming--”

“That was before,” she dismisses. Billy stares at how pale she is under the sealskin and how shiny her skin is with water. “When you were human, baby. Now, come on. You’ll love it.”

“I’m not wearing trunks,” Billy says. His mom just laughs at him.

She gets him in the water, because Billy loves adventure more than rules and he loves his mom more than anything. She makes him cling to the rocks when she goes under and then a seal rises and nudges Billy’s hands until he wraps them around the seal’s neck--his mom’s neck. He clings like he’s scared, even though he isn’t, and squeezes his eyes shut when his mom dives underwater and moves faster than Billy’s ever moved in his life. 

It’s the best thing he’s ever felt; better than movie nights and winning a race. 

Eventually, they have to leave and it hurts. He wants to cry, but he doesn’t because his mom is crying again.

“It’s okay, mom,” he says, because he's a man and he’s strong. “We’ll be back.”

They go whenever they can, sometimes at midnight when Billy is exhausted and sleeps on the rocks while his mom swims and sometimes his mom will take him out of school to play hookie on the private beach.

Once, only once, Billy gets to wear the sealskin. His mom wraps it around his shoulders, worry knitting her brows together, as she repeats over and over: 

“Just feel it; you’ll know. Like stretching first thing in the morning.” Billy nods and doesn’t know how he’s going to swim with both his hands holding the sealskin to his body, but he holds his breath and jumps into the water because he can’t stand to look at his mom looking like that any longer.

He’s scared, at first. He holds his breath and swims down, down the way his mom does, until his chest hurts and burns. His eyes burn where they squint against the ocean brine. The burn seems to catch and sear along his skin and bones, like he’s going to break-and-pop open like a blister.

She’s right, it feels like he’s stretching the biggest stretch in his life. He spreads out his arms to stabilize, but they don’t go very far before they feel right. When he opens his eyes, everything is clear in a way it’s never been before and Billy can hear the fish and he can feel the ocean in the whiskers along his face and eyebrows. He dives deeper, just because he can and he’s fast. He twists against the sandy-rocky bottom to watch-hear the sand startle and plume and he rushes toward the sunlight until he can feel the water shatter around him. When he sees his mom, he laughs and she laughs, too. 

“Oh, you did it! Oh, Billy, oh baby!” She kneels at the edge of the water and Billy swims close enough that she puts her hands against his sleek head. “You’re beautiful, baby,” she says and starts to cry. “Oh, Billy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His mom spends every day for a week tearing the house apart, looking for the second sealpelt that has to be under a floorboard or tucked into the attic. She goes crazy with it, until Neil storms into the house and smacks her into a wall and Billy runs away to hide under his bed and tries not to listen to them scream.

“You’ll never find it!” 

“You’re a fucking monster!”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but it stops!”

Later that night, Billy’s mom takes them out to swim. 

“Don’t worry, mom,” he says to her wet fur and tickly whiskers. “We can share, right?” The body under him trembles and Billy holds his breath when his mom dives. 

She swims deep, until the pressure makes Billy’s ears hurt in a way they didn’t when he was like her. He gets nervous. The water is dark when he tries to open his eyes; he can barely see the flickers of silver moonlight. He clutches his mom tighter, looks up for more light. His lungs start to feel achy and full, he tugs at his mom to take him up, but she doesn’t move. He tugs harder, groping in the dark for her face, to pull her whiskers, but she shakes him off, off until Billy is suspended in darkness like a shaking star. The blackness of the water is total and consuming and Billy gasps, terrified and then starts to cough when all he can taste and feel and breathe is thick, black water. He tries to go up, but he doesn’t know what up is or where. He flails, his feet brush against something he can’t see and he’s scared and he’s going to die and he doesn’t know where his mom is and everything burns and his stupid body won’t stop sobbing in water. He feels weird and fuzzy, like the opposite of stretching. He keeps crying for his mom.

He blinks open his eyes and feels the world rumbling. He coughs and it hurts worse than the flu and the one time Niel let him try a cigarette. It hurts and once he starts he can’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” he hears. He doesn’t turn to look, he’s too tired, but he knows his mom found him. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Billy mumbles, because he hates when his mom cries.

At the hospital, they tell his mom that he’s lucky; that he could have died. His dad shows up, furious and disheveled and his parents get into a screaming match in his room until three nurses chase them both out. 

When Billy goes home the next day, feeling tired and sore and small in the backseat of his dad’s car, his mom is gone. Niel doesn’t seem to believe it, even though she misses lunch and dinner. 

It’s another night when Neil drags Billy out of his bed and shakes him, screaming:

“Where is it? Where is it, you little shit? Where is it!?” The sealpelt is gone, and so is Billy’s mom. 

He doesn’t see her again, but he gets a phone call. He can hear gulls screaming behind his mom’s voice.

“It’s better this way,” she tells him; she can’t see him shake his head. “You’ll understand.”

Billy never does, though. 

Neil goes through a slew of girlfriends, each one a different variation of the same vanilla flavor. The same kind of woman who wears a cross necklace and makes them hold hands to pray over whatever frozen meal she over cooks until it’s all flavorless mush. The kind of woman who wouldn’t touch liquor, but happily pours Neil glass after glass of rum or whisky. Neat in the winter, on the rocks in the summer. She always insists that Billy calls her “mom” before Billy makes it his mission to make her regret even thinking she could be his mom.

Billy hates all of them, lets all of them know, too, until Neil backhands him so hard Billy swallows a tooth. It was only a baby tooth, but Billy misses the chance to hide it under his pillow and wake up with a nickel or a quarter. (He knows the tooth fairy isn’t real, he’s not a baby. He knows it was always his mom and she's gone now.) 

The girlfriends never stay long, but it’s always shitty when they leave and Neil blames Billy everytime. Sometimes it’s Billy’s fault, like when he leaves spiders in Kelly’s shoes or bites Hannah for trying to hug him. But, Billy’s not the one to put a black eye on Jessica or make Sharon cry at four o’clock in the morning. 

“My mom left at night, too,” Billy says, when he sees Sharon trying to quietly sneak through the kitchen to the side door. She starts, hand flying to her mouth as she spins to face him. Billy can’t see her clearly in the darkness, but he can see the shift of her silhouette.

“Billy,” she starts, quiet and desperate.

“I’m not gonna tell ‘im,” Billy says. “I want you gone, anyway.” Sharon makes a small, injured noise like she does at four in the morning. 

“I’m so sorry--”

“Shut up, woman. I don’t care. If you’re gonna take your car just make sure to roll it to the end of the driveway so he doesn’t wake up.” Billy grins, hopes his teeth flash and she can see his missing tooth. “You don’t want to be here when he wakes up.” Sharon’s silhouette shudders and for a moment it looks like her edges are blurring out like a broken etch-a-sketch before she opens the door. The backlight from the street solidifies hers for a moment and she pauses, as if to glance over her shoulder, but then she’s gone with the wheeze of squeaky hinges and the click of a lock. Billy stares at the door and waits for her to change her mind, to come back, but he knows she won’t. 

He gets his glass of water that he wanted and goes back to bed.

Neil is pissed in the morning when he realizes that Sharon is gone and so is the money in Neil’s wallet. Billy can’t help but laugh and thinks: “that bitch,” before Neil punches him. Not a slap or a backhand, but a full club-of-knuckles punch that slams into Billy’s temple and rattles his brain around as Billy falls. 

“You think this is funny?” Neil demands and he must look furious, but Billy can’t quite see right when he looks up, even when he tries to blink the tears back. “You little shit? You think this is funny?” 

Billy doesn’t think it’s funny, but his head is fuzzy, like he’s about to have a headache and that makes everything kind of funny anyway. 

Billy gets meaner as he gets bigger, like the more he grows the more hate he can store in his bones and his gut until he erupts like St. Helens and destroys whatever’s in his way. Property, people. Billy doesn’t stop once he starts until something makes him stop. As a kid, that had been teachers and other, older kids. Now, it’s usually the cops. 

“The only reason,” the cop starts. “That I’m not booking you, is because Neil is a good man.” Billy snorts, coughs, spits a glob of blood and snot like red jelly at the front seat. His lip is split and numb with swelling, so it doesn't get far and mostly drips down Billy’s chin. Billy bares his teeth and licks at the mess, making eye contact with the driving cop. “Jesus Christ,” the cop mutters. “No wonder your mom left.” 

“Fuck you!” Billy screams, slams his cuffed fists into the seat in front of him hard enough to make the cop jump and the car swerve.

“Knock it off!” He yells back. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Billy shoves his face against the metal grill separating him from the cup and keeping him from making good on his threat. “You hear me?” Billy shouts, feels the small cuts on his face crack open and tastes blood in his mouth. He spits again; the cop swears and jerks the steering wheel. Billy shoves his face harder into the metal to keep from sliding around. “You and him and everyone! Every piece of shit person in this piece of shit town!”

“I said: knock it off!” The cop’s fist slams back against the grill, the impact translates harshly through the metal and Billy snarls as he jerks back, slumping against the seat and spitting again. “I’m trying to help you, you shit!” The cop swears, tries to carefully adjust his cap where it’s gotten cocked. Billy grins when the cop looks back at him through the rearview mirror. Billy’s tongue flicks out to feel one of his canines before it drags over the rest of his stained teeth to taste thick iron. He feels like something must have gotten knocked loose in his head, maybe when the cop slammed the night stick into Billy’s skull, because everything is starting to be funny. “What the fuck are you smiling at?” The cop growls. Billy laughs, it’s rough and a little high.

“You’re right,” Billy lets his head loll against the seat, rolls his neck so he can keep an eye on the cop. “You’re a really swell guy, huh? Why not just drop me off at your place? Show your wife how grateful I am.” Billy’s tongue flicks out over his teeth again. “Gotta get lonely, married to a hero, you know?” Billy rolls his hips up and out of the seat with a breathy moan. He cackles when the cop goes rigid.

“You know what, kid?” The cop asks and jerks the steering wheel to the side so that the vehicle makes a sharp u-turn that knocks Billy over. “Changed my mind.” Billy starts laughing again as the cop calls it in. He catches the phrase “rabid fucking animal” and Billy starts to howl and scream until the laughter takes him over. He can’t stop, doesn’t know if he wants to, even when the world starts to gray out at the edges because he can't breathe and Billy thinks: this is nothing like drowning.

Billy knows they called his dad, one of the cops said as much with a face between smug and disgusted. Billy's terrified and furious and he swears at anyone he sees and slams into the bars of the drunk tank until they move him to a different room and cuff him to a bench. He's left there, alone, and he waits. The fear rises up, eating more of Billy's brain like a high tide, but when no one comes after waiting and waiting and waiting, the fear starts to recede. Billy knocks his head against the wall in boredom, curses when it makes every bruise on his head flare up, and then does it again to pass the time. 

He doesn't know how long he waits in the cell, only knows that he should have pissed in the communal cell when he still had hands because he's about to piss himself. When he tells a passing officer, the man rolls his eyes and keeps walking. Billy yanks on the cuffs until his wrists bruise and then does some impressive twisting to get his fly down enough that he can piss on the floor and mostly get himself back in his pants. It's disgusting; he hates it. He hopes the moron cop that left him here has to clean it up. 

"You sure you don't want to wait for your husband, ma'am?" 

"Boyfriend. He's busy; you know how it is."

"Just, the kid's a handful and--"

"Don't worry." 

Billy groans like he's popped when the cop rounds the corner with Neil's latest girlfriend. She a pain in the ass and goes by “B” instead of a name like a normal fucking person.

"If you’re sure, ma’am,” the cop says, eyeing Billy carefully. Billy licks his teeth and growls through his nose before his face flares up with pain. 

“Come on, Billy-baby. Let’s go home,” B says, maternal and fond. Billy wants to punch something, but he wants out more. The cop releases him, glares at the yellow puddle on the floor. Billy smirks, resists grabbing his dick for emphasis because he’s still cuffed. His left leg is numb and his hip is bruised, but he swaggers out of the precinct all the same, leering at the ladies and sneering at the men. B keeps firm grip on Billy the entire way, even after the cuffs are off, smiling tightly at everyone and digging her nails into Billy’s arm, until she opens the door of the Volkswagen and Billy sags into the passenger seat. The car starts with a rumble and crunches at the gravel until it gains traction and moves.

“Just drop me off,” Billy mumbles, hands on his knees and eyes on the worn carpet of the wheel well. “Anywhere.”

“Billy,” B starts with a heavy sigh. “Neil doesn’t know.” Billy tries not to react, but he feels his muscles contract-release. B reaches over the gear shift to squeeze his thigh. “I didn’t tell him.” Billy peaks over at her; his sweaty bangs hang in a greasy curtain around his face. She glances back at him.

B is a pretty woman. He can see the powder of her make up sit heavy in the creases of her scant wrinkles; he can see where the blue-purple eyeshadow falls onto her cheek like a bruise. Her smile is warmer in the quiet privacy of the Volkswagen, even though her tacky lip gloss sticks to her teeth when she shows her teeth. She has thick, dark hair, but Billy isn’t sure if it’s naturally like that or if it’s never remembered how to lie flat after years of hairspray keeping it up. 

It’s the way that she looks at Billy that makes her glow. Like looking at Billy makes her whole life brighter.

“Why not?” Billy asks. He starts to bring his knees up to chest, but stops when he feels B’s hand heavy and hot on his leg. He keeps his knees still when they try to jump.

“He doesn’t have to know,” B says, rubbing up and down Billy’s thigh, from his knee and up-up-up. 

“Yeah?” Billy hates how hopeful he sounds, hates that after spending hours as a rabid fucking animal he knows how to come to heel. 

“Sure, baby,” B hums, never taking her hand away. She pats his legs, slides her hand close to finger the inner seam of his jeans. It makes Billy want to squirm, but B’s being nice to him and he doesn’t want to be weird. 

“He won’t be mad?” Billy feels stupid for asking, because of fucking course Neil will be mad. But, only if he finds out. “What’s in it for you?” 

“I like you, Billy,” she squeezes his thigh again, but it feels like it has meaning, now, that it didn’t have before. “I really do.”

“Oh,” Billy says, stupid and feeling fuzzy. 

“We don’t have to tell your daddy,” B continues and Billy feels like she isn’t talking about being arrested. “Just let me take care of you, baby.” Billy wants to smack her hand away; he wants to break her fingers and run into the water until the rip current takes him away.

“Yeah,” Billy says, because he’s a stupid little shit and a dumb fucking animal but he's not an idiot.

Billy runs away once. 

Neil is working late. He’s taken more late shifts because the pay is better, he says, and he can finally trust a woman to keep Billy in line. 

Billy spits into the sink and glares at the pink toothpaste foam. He spits again, rinses his mouth, and when he runs a tongue over his teeth he can taste blood. When he bares his teeth, he can see red bleeding in the cracks and feels wild. If he thinks about it, he can still taste her. Taste her cherry red lip gloss that sticks to his skin no matter how hard he scrubs. Taste the tang of her sweat as she grabs his hair. 

“You’re a good boy,” B says before she sends him away. Billy knows she’s full of shit, but it feels good when B looks at him like he’s a good kid instead of a fucking animal. Billy likes how much B likes him, even if he feels queasy now, in the bathroom, thinking about how the taste of watery blood and spit is almost, kind of close to what B tastes like. 

Billy licks his teeth, watches the red creep back in, slower. Billy feels lightheaded with the cyclical, predictable nature of his life. He thinks about Neil being irritable and waspish in the morning; he thinks about the fights he’ll pick at school over his shitty, second-hand clothes. He thinks about Neil being gone when Billy gets home and just him and B, alone. He thinks about trying to do his homework and he thinks about B putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing until it almost hurts and telling him he’s “so good, come on.” Billy thinks about hesitating, and almost saying no. 

“Don’t be a fag,” B says. Her nails are sharp in his skin and her hands are heavy and hot. 

Billy can’t breathe under the weight of tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow and all the days after. He rubs at his face, shakes his head. He punches the sink hard enough that he has to bite his lips to stay quiet, but the throbbing buzz of pain quiets the panicked buzz of tomorrow tomorrow.

Billy decides that he isn’t going to stay for tomorrow. Neil will be out another hour, at least, and B is in the shower, washing Billy off her skin. He won’t get another chance, so Billy sneaks into Neil’s bedroom and takes any cash that’s stashed in pockets and under the mattress. On a whim, he looks for anything like a seal pelt. He’s disappointed but not surprised when he finds nothing furrier than lint-fuzzed condoms.

He switches out his pajamas for jeans and a t-shirt and a leather jacket that settles like a second skin over his shoulders. It’s too damn hot for a jacket and Billy can already feel sweat pearl at his neck, but he’ll need his jacket if he’s leaving.

He shoves what he can in a duffle bag and carefully leaves the house, even though he knows no one will hear him.

He starts to walk, keeping to the darkest parts of the road and feeling sweatier and angerier and more nervous as the night sounds press around him without the barrier of four walls, a roof, and family. He doesn’t stop, though, because if he goes back to tomorrow tomorrow he’ll still have to deal with Neil. Billy isn’t willing to do that. So, he walks.

He ends up at the ocean, because the ocean is everywhere and there’s nowhere Billy would rather be. He walks down the shore until the sand goes from soft to hard and Billy can walk easier with the ocean mumbling to his left. 

The water is black and inky at night; Billy remembers how much darker it is under the water. He thinks he should be scared, but he isn’t. He doesn’t think he can be scared of the ocean, not when the waves gnaw playfully on the sand and the wind teases a light spray of water into Billy’s hair. He feels the lightest he’s ever felt.

Billy manages to go three days before he gets caught, living on diner Cokes and fries until a concerned citizen calls the cops about an unwashed kid skipping school. He kicks and screams and punches the whole way back to the station before he embarasses himself and everyone by crying like a pussy. 

Neil picks him up. Backhands him in front of the cops and God and everyone for being a stupid little shit. Billy supposes he deserves it for crying about getting caught.

The car ride is tense and quiet. 

“You were looking for her, weren’t you?” Neil asks. Billy isn’t sure what he means so he stays quiet. He can see Neil nodding to himself, hear the creaking of the steering wheel. "She's not coming back. Not for you." 

"Mom?" Billy asks. Neil's head snaps to stare at Billy, eyes wide and dark. 

"You're a fucking idiot," Neil says, lips thinning as he glares back at the road. 

"I wasn't--"

"Bernice is gone," Neil cuts him off. 

"Gone?" Billy parrots, stupid and confused.

"Bitch lied to me." Neil takes his eyes off the road, pins Billy with his eyes. "I don't tolerate that kind of disrespect."

"What," Billy's heart is pounding heavy and thick in his chest and the crown of his head swoops and tingles. He thinks about all the things B could lie about. All the things she does lie about. He thinks of the sounds she makes. "What did she lie about?"

"You think I wouldn't find out?" Neil snaps. "You're trying to get back to the ocean."

"I don't know--"

"Don't fucking lie to me, Billy!" Neil slams a fist against the steering wheel and the car jerks. "You tear through my house? Steal my shit? Go running off to the water for your mom like a fucking pussy?" Billy cowers against the passenger door, putting distance between him and Neil. Neil notices and sneers at him. "A fucking pussy. A stupid fucking pussy." The car stops and Billy notices that they’re back home. Billy feels a wave of nausea that leaves him lightheaded. 

"I'm sorry," Billy tries. His throat is tight and his voice is thin. "Sir." Neil exhales sharply. 

"You're going to get out of my fucking car," Neil starts, low but even. "You're going to stay in your room until I see fit to let you out. Do you understand?" Billy nods. "Do you fucking understand?"

"Yes, sir," Billy says, hand on the door handle. 

"Well, then get the fuck out!" 

Billy scrambles to obey, hurries into the house and into his room. Neil's clearly been through it, clothes are on the floor, his dresser has been knocked over. The jar of seashells has shattered, making the ground impossible to walk on. Billy sits just inside the door of his room and listens to his father stomp around the house. Thump-thump-thump past Billy's door and back again. Billy chews on the inside of his cheek when tears start to burn his eyes like seawater. 

It's summer, but Billy can smell the wood smoke of a fire and knows Neil is using the fireplace. That doesn't make sense; it's too damn hot. Billy's heart starts to pick up, starts to pound with fear and he wonders if Neil is going to burn him. Billy has seen burns before, the nasty kind that pepper up someone's arm in perfect, little circles and the kind that come from iron pokers like the one Neil keeps by the fireplace. 

Neil's never done anything like that before, but Billy's really fucked up and there's no one around to stop him. 

"Billy!" Neil shouts and Billy jumps, scrambles to stand as quickly as he can even though his legs and ass are numb and he's crying like a bitch. "Billy!" 

When Billy opens the door, the smell in the house is worse than anything he's expecting. The sweet smell of burning wood has been overtaken by something foul, somewhere between the stench of Karen's perms and burning rubber. It coats the back of Billy's throat and makes him cough. 

Neil is sitting in his armchair, drinking rum from a squat glass. He's red and shining with sweat and when the fire flares and crackles hungrily around whatever terrible thing Neil is burning he looks like a devil.

"Come here," Neil grunts and Billy obeys, rubbing at his eyes and nose as the black smoke from the fireplace makes the air thick. "Now." Neil snaps. Billy scrambles next to Neil, waiting for whatever he's going to do, feeling tighter and sicker. The iron poker is in it’s stand, far from Neil’s red fingers, but Billy has seen how fast he can move. Billy flinches when Neil raises a hand. "Stop it," Neil says and sets his heavy, hot hand against Billy's cheek. He runs a thumb over the tender, blooming swell where he backhanded Billy earlier. "You look like her," Neil says softly. Billy tries not to squirm; he’s gotten good at standing still with B. He plants his feet and waits, sweating against Neil's palm. Neil's hand slides to the side and he grabs a strand of Billy's dirty hair to rub between his fingers. "Should have done this before. Blood like that breeds true, they say." Billy doesn't understand and he's scared to breathe. "Do you smell that?" 

"Yes, sir," Billy's voice cracks and he tries not to cough or clear his throat. He swallows twice but it doesn’t help. 

"Do you know what that is?" Neil asks, hand still in Billy's hair. "Do you?" Billy shakes his head. 

"No, sir."

"That's what fur smells like," Neil says. "When it's burning." Something turns over in Billy's stomach before it drops. His head snaps from staring at Neil to staring at the fire.

He can see it. Fur burning and skin curling, black smoke leaking out of it like a disease. 

"No!" Billy darts forward, but Neil jerks him back by the hand tangled in his hair. "You fucking bastard, let me go!" Billy's feet slip out from under him and he flails to right himself. “You can’t do this!” He claws at Neil's hand; another arm wraps around his throat and Billy is yanked further back and away from the burning pelt. “You can’t!”

"I should have burned your mom's," Neil says against Billy's cheek. He's almost dragged Billy into his lap even though Billy is kicking and screaming. "But, I loved her too much." Billy sobs as the fire burns uglier. "This is for your own good, Billy." Billy’s ears are rushing and ringing like he's been punched; he doesn’t understand the noises he’s making, gasping for air only to scream it back out. He feels like he’s falling and drowning and shattering; his heart is breaking.

“Please.” Billy’s voice comes out as an animal whine. “Dad, please.” Neil let's go of his hair and wraps an arm around his chest, instead. It almost feels like a hug. 

"You’ll be happier this way," Neil says and Billy feels something rough and soft press against his pounding temple. He barely registers that Neil kisses him. 

Eventually, the fire starts to burn out. The light gets dimmer and each ember that closes it’s eye leaves Billy colder than he should be in the California summer. 

“No more running,” Neil says. “We’re family, Billy. You can’t run from family.”

Billy doesn’t go back to the beach for a while. He doesn’t go back until Neil finds another girlfriend that sticks around. Billy doesn’t care; not until the idiot marries Neil and Billy has to meet his new sister.

The little firebrand is a bitch and Billy hates her. He hates how quickly she rises from the sidewalk, elbows scraped and eyes shining with tears as she glares him down. He hates how quickly Susan rushes to Maxine to dab at her scrapes and kiss her forehead. He hates how Neil hauls him in by the back of his neck and screams at him for being irresponsible. 

He hates that Max drags them all to the beach because she wants to learn how to surf and she’s seen the old surfboard Billy doesn’t use anymore gathering dirt and weeds along the side of the house. Susan loves the idea, thinks it’s great for the kids to bond over something they both love. Neil doesn’t like it, says Billy has a bad track record with the ocean. Max promises to keep an eye on him and the smile Neil gives her makes Billy quake.

At the beach, Billy waits as long as he can before getting into the water. He waits until Susan asks him quietly:

“Are you okay?” And suddenly being anywhere but near her is the best thing Billy’s ever heard. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Billy starts as he sits Max at the head of his board and starts moving them out. “There’s all kinds of shit out here that can kill you. If you don’t knock yourself out with the board and drown.”

“Well then teach me, asshole,” she snaps, stubborn and burning above the blue. Billy grits his teeth and thinks of how easy it would be to drown her out here. ‘Sorry, Susan, rip currents. Hell of a thing.’

“The fuck do you think I’m doing?” Billy snaps back.

“Being a wimp ‘cause you’re scared of the ocean.”

“I’m not scared!” Billy snarls. “I’m not fucking scared of the ocean!”

“Prove it!” 

Max can barely stand on the board, let alone surf. Billy hopes that after a few failures she'll let Billy drag her sorry ass back to shore, but she keeps getting up. Keep insisting that they try again. Billy hates how much he admires that.

Billy has only just dodged both Max and the surfboard when he see a shape in the water he knows. It's a dark shadow, like a bullet.

"Let's go out further," Billy says, once Max is done spitting the ocean out of her mouth. 

"What?" Max clings to the board. "What about rip currents?"

"You scared, Max?" Billy sneers. "Scared of the ocean?"

"Hell no," she bites back, just as stubborn and vicious. When Billy grins at her, it's all teeth. "What the hell is that?" Max shouts, following the shadow with her eyes. 

"A seal," Billy says. "They're harmless," he lies and cajoles Max into place for the next wave.

It's stupid for Billy to think this seal might be his mom. It's stupid for him to think about her at all. Then, the dark shape in the water takes a sharp turn in their direction. Billy is the only one that sees it while Max is rubbing the salt out of her eyes. Billy grins, waits for his mom to nudge him into grabbing her neck.

And then Max gasps and disappears as a small splash blurs Billy's vision. The surfboard is empty and he thinks he can see copper flashing in the blue. 

"Shit," Billy says. "Shit, shit, shit." Billy takes a deep breath and dives. 

Under the waves, the world is distant. The water rushes, friendly and muted over his ears. He is too far from the shore to hear the silverware tinkle of seashells being kneaded into the sand. It's peaceful and quiet; for a moment Billy forgets everything at all beyond the pressure of the ocean holding him together and keeping the chaos of the surface away. Then, he hears something like a struggle and his eyes snap open. 

He can't see well like this, but he can track the shadow and the rust smear of color beneath him. He dives and dives until his heart beats hard in his chest and his ears hurt with the pressure of the water bearing him down, down, down. 

A pale hand is flailing in the water. Billy grabs it; it grabs back, weak and loose. Billy pulls and meet resistance. He pulls harder; his lungs start to burn and spasm. Max's small hand grows more lax; Billy clutches tighter. A shape looms in the water and Billy knows he's staring down a seal. The hand in his feels cold. 

For a moment, Billy understands. The seal nudges his face and Billy can't see her at all, but he knows. Billy almost lets go of Max to grab his mom; to hug her and scream at her. But, his lungs are burning and Max is getting colder and colder and Billy knows how scary it is to drown, so he kicks up. He gets scared when the light piercing the ocean gets no closer, even though Billy is running out of air and trying his best. He starts to feel that rush of tinnitus and terror and thinks, again, about leaving Max behind. But something nudges him and Billy almost sobs. He grabs the seal and lets it pull them to the surface where he coughs and gasps and feels more rough and miserable than he ever has. As he shakes the water out of his curls and grabs Max's face, he sees the seal, staring at them with big, black eyes. Billy stares back and pretends the water on his face is all the ocean's fault. 

"I can't," Billy rasps, lungs too sore and burning to support noise. The seal doesn't make a noise, just stares at Billy and slides into the water. Billy waits for it to come back, waits for his mom to come back, but she doesn't. Billy wants to wallow, but he doesn't have time with how cold Max has gotten. 

Billy is a coward, because when the ambulance takes Max and Susan away and Billy is trapped in the car with a screaming Neil he says:

"It was her!" And Neil stops talking and listens. "It was mom."

Before Billy knows what's happening, he's gathered around the kitchen table with a newly released Max and Neil announces:

"We're moving." 

Everyone blames Billy when they wind up in dreary-ass Hawkins, Indiana. Neil says it's Billy's fault over and over until everyone forgets that Billy was the one to save Max’s life. Billy was the one to drag Max’s cold, pale body out of the water and start slapping at her chest like he knew what he was doing. 

No one cares, once they pack up everything and leave the trash behind in the house Billy fucking hates. Neil threatens to leave Billy behind, too, if he doesn’t show up on moving day, and Billy calls him on his bluff. 

Turns out, though, it’s not a bluff, and Billy steals the closest car he finds that he thinks can stand to drive over a hundred miles in and tears ass after his dad and so-called ‘family’.

After a state line or two, Billy really grows attached to the blue Camaro that devours the road almost as fast at it guzzles gas. He has to stop enough that he knows he’s lagging way behind his family, but he knows where they’re going, and Billy needs to get there to see Neil’s face when Billy rolls up in a ride better than anything Neil could ever hope to afford. (And turns out that changing the locks on a car is a hell of a lot cheaper than buying a whole-ass new car.)

At the end of it, when Billy snarls into Hawkins, Indiana with his new muscle car, it’s only Susan smoothing her hands down Neil’s arms that calms Neil down.

“Where will he go?” Susan asks, pained and earnest. 

Neil still smacks Billy around to save his face and wreck Billy’s, but it hardly matters when Billy gets to sleep under a real roof for the first time in almost a week. He hardly even minds Max peeking at him, eyes burning under her curtain of hair. 

Neil thinks it’s a punishment when he takes Max, Susan, and himself to the school to meet Max’s new, shitty teachers and to make nice and get ice cream or whatever-the-fuck after. It’s the best thing to happen to Billy after he got a new roof; the quiet in the house means he can move freely and fearlessly. He still jumps at any new sound (which are many in this backwoods fucking town). The mess of moving means that no one will notice Billy poking around, so Billy does whatever he damn well pleases.

The safe in his dad’s room is barely interesting, but Billy is bored and wants to test his skills, so he cracks it open, ready to take a few spare bills off the top, but doesn’t know what to do when a creamy, cracked pelt stares back at him instead of a Jackson or even a god-damn Lincoln. 

“The fuck?” Billy brushes his fingers along the ugly thing--it’s yellowed and sheds dust when Billy picks it up. It feels funny in Billy’s hands like his skin is tingling. (He’s never going to let this go.)

Billy is in the Camero before he understands what’s happening, following some abstract need, need, need until he finds some puddle of rainwater that people call a lake in a clawed-out quarry. He doesn’t think it’ll work, but he can’t care. He already feels crazy for even thinking of trying as he sheds his clothes in frigid-ass Hawkins. He carefully unfolds the pale pelt, wincing every time the skin cracks before he drapes it over his shoulders and wades into the water so cold he can't breathe. He tries not to shiver and just waits for that stretching feeling even though he knows it isn’t coming. The pelt gets pliant, soft, and Billy draws it tighter across himself, dreaming of his mom. 

Billy starts to feel heavy, each of his muscles freezing and seizing by turn until he’s too heavy and stiff to hold up. He could drag his sorry ass out, but Billy doesn’t know what for. So, he sinks into that painfully-numb feeling of cold, Indiana water until his muscles burn. He holds his breath and falls back, clutching the pelt. It’s fucking awful but he relaxes little but little, and thinks he must be dying until he opens his eyes and sees clearly; until he can feel the stale, cold current on his whiskers.

His fucking whiskers.

He’s never moved so fast--well, maybe when he was hauling ass out of California with a flashy, stolen muscle car. But, he’s moving, making the water around him shudder and spin for him like he’s a god. There’s no sand and the fish are fatty, slow goldfish that are bloated like crumpled straw wrappers in water. Billy chases them anyway, lets them get away. He can’t help but laugh and laugh and laugh until he hears something snap near-by--maybe a twig or a bone, it’s hard to tell. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

Billy holds his breath and ducks and waits. When he resurfaces because his lungs are burning, there is no one around to see him flop out of the water and out of his skin. Billy laughs, glorious and naked into the cold, starry night.

“Fuck,” he gasps, watching his breath mist the air, white as his pelt. His pelt. He laughs again and again. He barely drags himself home before Neil gets home; he barely smashes the safe shut and shoves it away. Billy scrambles to find a good spot to hide the pelt so that Neil will never find it. Short of shoving it down his pants, Billy isn’t sure how to keep it safe (though he isn’t sure how much that would do for him). He settles for tucking it into his backpack during the day.

He doesn’t understand why his mom left and he never will. But, he’s starting to understand why she wouldn't have stayed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if I missed any tags.


End file.
